"That man, I say, is armed!"
Keenan laughed, scoffingly.
"Take his revolver from him!" commanded Durkin.
A momentary hesitation held her back.
"Take it, I say! And, by God, if he so much as moves a finger, I'll blow the top of his head off!"
The woman confronted Keenan once more, but he fell back a step or two.
"There's no need of that," he broke in angrily. "If you want the gun, I'll give it to you!"
And as he spoke his arm swung down and back to his hip pocket.
"Stop that!" cried Durkin sharply, as he saw the movement. "Keep those hands up, or, by heaven, I'll let you have it!"
His arm, by this time, was tense and rigidly out-stretched, and his steady pistol-barrel pointed just between the other man's ludicrously blinking eyes. In the silence that followed the woman reached back, and without further hesitation drew the revolver from the motionless man's pocket.